Peeping Tom
by fading-spark
Summary: Tom's thoughts as he waited for Kate to wake up in A Tale of Two Cities. TomKate, TomAlex.


**Summary: **Tom's thoughts as he waited for Kate to wake up in "A Tale of Two Cities".  
**Rating:** PG  
**Pairing: **Tom/Kate-ish with not-so-subtle hints of Tom/Alex  
**Word Count:** 764  
**Warning: **second person POV, hints of an adult with a minor  
**Dedicated to: **Neddle on LiveJournal - one of my best reviewers. :)  
**Disclaimer: **I do not own these characters. Maybe someday...

* * *

You have to admit, she is awful pretty when she's sleeping. The way her brown curls frame her face, how her nose twitches with every soft sigh of breath. She paints a pretty picture, but she hardly looks peaceful; even in her sleep, a small frown tugs her pretty little lips downwards. She's nothing like _her_ – your pretty little Alex-girl – not really – and yet you're giving Kate her dress and you can't stop the rousing of excitement you feel when you imagine Kate in her clothes.

Yeah, you're a pervert. You snort at that thought – at least your ballsy enough to admit you are; which is more then you can say for certain other men in your tribe.

You shrug slightly, roll your shoulders and crack your knuckles. She's been out cold for awhile now; it shouldn't be too much longer until she wakes up. But you should have a few more minutes at least; so you squat down beside her, taking in her soft but worn features. You can't help yourself – you reach out and trace the tiny, harsh lines that flare out from the sides of her eyes. You trail your fingers down her cheek, stop to tuck a loose curl of hair behind her ear.

She shifts slightly, letting out a soft moan and making your hand fall unintentionally upon her pouty lips. They're dry but soft; and you suddenly think of a younger woman with luscious dark curls who wore the same dress you're going to make Kate wear. It hung off her; with a small smirk you think that it'd probably fill out Kate's curves much better.

She starts to twitch and her breathing visibly hitches. You sigh and can't resist a small roll of the eyes as you get back to your feet and move over to the shower stall, flicking on the taps. You shuffle towards the stall wall a few meters away from the waking woman and cross your arms over your chest, laying one hand atop the other on your stomach.

A soft sigh escapes her; you just barely hear it over the running water. Her eyes crack open and you watch her blink as she glances around in slight confusion.

"Rise and shine, Kate," you call out. Within an instant, she's alert and clambering to her feet, staring at you with a tinge of fear and weariness. Her hair is wild around her head and her shirt is rumpled and yeah, the arousal is back. You've never had a lot of self control – you're not Ben.

You almost roll your eyes at _that_ thought, but then she draws your attention back to her. "Where am I?" she asks, her voice hoarse from lack of use.

You sneer at her, "you don't really think I'm going to answer that, do you?"

You feel like a jerk when she bows her head in defeat for a second, gripping the shower wall and swaying slightly like a leaf on the wind; but then her jaw clenches and she's looking your square in the eye again.

"Where is Sawyer and Jack?"

You can't resist the half-smile that twists your lips upwards as you push off the wall, "I'll tell you what. Why don't you just take a nice hot shower? Wake yourself up. Wash the day off you; start fresh." You cock your eyebrow at her as she stares at you in blatant confusion. "There's some nice clean towels, shampoo, soap-"

"I'm not showering in front of you," she interrupts; her voice hard and steady.

You pause for a moment, your mind wandering to the thought of Kate – her body still damp with warm water, the dress hanging off her curves. You can imagine the edge of the dress fluttering in the wind while her brown curls cascade down her back smoothly.

But then the image shifts – the brown curls turn into a softer black color, and become more like fat ringlets. Her skin pales from a golden tan into a sickly brown, and her features become softer – younger. You remember Alex; how she smiled so brightly when you brought her the dress, how it hung off her horribly but she still twirled and spun on the grass in it.

You laugh.

Your lips twist back into a sardonic smile; you shrug and revel in the memories of your girl, your _woman_.

"Kate, you're not my type," you insist; although the lie settles uneasily in your stomach. You push it away though as you leave the room.

Maybe if you're lucky, Ben's filming the shower stalls anyway.


End file.
